Getting Cold Feet at the Frosty Play: Silly...Silly...Silly

Our story begins on October 5th where I was, once again, minding my own business. My friend Erin (also known as "The Bane of My Existence"), had put out feelers for volunteers to participate in her annual holiday production. Having been featured, most unglamorously, in several of these, I decided that this was my year to retire...to pass the torch to the more talented staff members who can take Erin's direction without mocking, heckling, or undermining her.

But, alas.

Annoying text message from Erin:  Ummm...I'm sorry. Did I somehow miss you signing up with me
after the faculty meeting for Frosty?

I responded with an adorable snowman picture "waving" to Erin with BOTH of its stick fingers.

Erin:  Oh! Are you raising both hands to join? Super. I'll count you in.

Fast forward to October 9th where I foolishly believed the lie my mother told me when I was nine: Just ignore her. She'll go away.

Annoying text message from Erin:  What are your feelings about villains?

Me:  Compassion...respect...a deep, relatable connection.

Erin:  Perfect! Professor Hinkle you will be!

Me:  I am not being in the play this year.

Erin:  You said that last year and, yes, you are. You will be amazing!

Fast forward to the first play practice that I purposely ignored because I had stated firmly, emphatically, and unequivocally that I was NOT going to participate this year.

PA Announcement:  Will Amy Mosiman please report to Erin's room? Amy Mosiman? Report to Erin's room or she will come and get you.

I stormed down the hall, slunk into Erin's crowded room of eager, excited actors, and sulked in the corner.

During the read-through, I couldn't find "my voice," veering uncontrollably from French to Southern to British to German. I was certain that I would be invited to leave but unfortunately, people started making requests. "Can you do Russian?" No.

Fast forward to the beginning of December where I learn that, not only did my "small" part turn out to be twenty-two lines long, I was also going to have to "leap" from a "moving train."

Wait. 

What?!?

I was assured that I would be given an opportunity to practice said death-defying feat. Yet another lie.

Fast forward to the morning on the day of the play.

While in the midst of trying to part my bangs in the middle, Professor Hinkle-style, I dropped a barrette and hit my head on the bathroom vanity as I went to stand up. Ouch! I cheered up immediately. Death, take me now, I begged, peering unhappily (and dizzily) at my very unglamorous reflection in the mirror. 

Fast forward to the drive to school the day of the play.

Okay, I thought, clutching the wheel, the head contusion didn't do me in. C'mon deer...do your thing.

Fast forward to the play.

This is a TERRIBLE idea. I read my script frantically with Hocus-Pocus the rabbit peering desperately over my shoulder. We scanned the pages like it was that shiny tri-fold life-saving brochure that no one ever reads on a plane UNTIL..."How do I make my seat into a floatation device?"..."How do I get the oxygen to flow out of that dangling apparatus?"..."Who has Frosty's hat in Scene 2?" There were video segments. Choreographed dancers. A choir. A narrator. A LOT of things to be paying attention to. Hocus and I panicked. We NEVER paid attention!!!

Things went downhill the moment I hit the stage. The cast could only stare in horror as I flailed about. I could only think about tracking that darn hat and that I would soon be leaping to my death (or, at the very least, breaking my hip) in front of a live audience of impressionable children.

My friend Eric was a masterful Frosty. Unfortunately, his head was encased in a thick layer of polyester foam with an impenetrable mask that didn't allow him to either see or hear. Afraid that he may have missed his cue (He didn't...I had jumped the gun), I "helped" him by asking him if he wanted me to jump on his back. Little Karen then climbed aboard and I was so caught up in the moment, I decided to go along for the ride.

Soon after, my friend Michelle approached with the rolling cart that served as my train. In her enthusiasm, she rammed that sucker right into my shins. Eyes wide, we stared at each other in horror. Mindful of my hot mic, she leaned forward and hissed, "Don't say it," as I drew in a deep breath and prayed that maybe I'd suffered a fractured fibula. No such luck. Michelle heaved me on the cart and quickly rolled me out onto the stage. I was poised as some sort of lumpy, base-jumping frog. As we careened toward the 1/4 inch thick mat (Cheese cloth would have offered me better padding), I readied myself for my stunt. In my mind, it was a masterful movie-style leap. In reality, it was more of a limp log-roll.

Praise God, the end of the play had arrived. My confrontation with Santa consisted of my Superintendent and myself staring, wide-eyed at one another, as we engaged in a warped and dangerous dueling banjos-style improvisation as we both battled to remember our lines. When he was in the midst of an impressive Hamlet-type off-script soliloquy with no end in sight, "Little Karen" (who actually KNEW her lines) and I glanced worriedly at one another. Unsure of what to do during his monologue, I began yawning, looking at my watch, and miming gater hand at him. All was well at the end though, when he majestically boarded his "sleigh" (the hallway zamboni) and whisked our top-heavy Frosty off safely to the North Pole. We all breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. And nobody died.

Fast forward to me at home, safely tucked into my comfy chair, trying to put this nightmare behind me.

Annoying text from Erin: I didn't get a chance to tell you that you went above and beyond for your role and you were amazing. 

Clearly, she is both blind and delusional. Did she sneak out of the auditorium and attend another play? Did she hit her head on her bathroom vanity this morning picking up a barrette? Had this all just been a bad dream?

I did not respond to her text. My mother used to tell me that if I ignore an annoying person, they will eventually go away.